That ulcer
in his
consciousness
bleeding
to be heard
A canker
of a
muted past
abscessing
every word
Cold sores
of detention
that fade
but never
cure
A virus
of his
hopes and dreams
recurring
— untoward
(Septa R5 Train: May,2024)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem